A Weak Gale
by Joebug
Summary: A comfortable life in the Skykingdom is not all its made out to be.


Hi y'all. Yeah, I'm back. No more drama for me, can't take it. The reasons I came back is: 1, I missed being part of a community. And 2, my writing has suffered. I haven't written since I left, so this is going to be rusty. Good thing is, I can re-construct my writing style. My writing use to be non-descriptive, simplistic, and lacked character development. This time round, I hope to fix that, construct my style how I want. Now onward, to the story!

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A Skywing flew in the warm, clear summer sky. The sun reflected off streams and rivers, creating a silver glittery affect. The mountains below where like brown and gray spikes clawing the sky, some covered in vegetation. A goat bleated at the sight of the dragon and leaped into a nearby fissure in the rock wall.

The Skywing was a deep blood red on the top scales staring at his head, running down his back, and ending at the tip of his tail. The rest of him was a light scarlet, except his underscales, which where a salmon-pink color. He had a slender, wiry physique that was rather graceful.

He banked in the wind, the sun reflecting off his firey-orange eyes, which where glazed over and filled with a force of anger. What he was angry about, he did not know.

The Skywing was comeing upon the heart of the Skykingdom, where he resided. There was a cave high up, in a rock pillar of some sort. He landed on the opening of the cave and strode in to the light-filled aria. Tall, thin holes in the rock wall allowed much natural light to enter, but they where carved in at an angle to where no wind could get in.

The cave was adorned with cleaned furs and paintings on hide canvases. Most of the art was of nature, mountains in the Skykingdom. Some where portraits of famous dragons in the Skykingdom. But all where beautiful, painted in breath-takeing realism. The artist was sitting in the corner, near one of the windows, working on her next masterpiece. She was a light-red Skywing, fat from lack of exercise.

She glanced at the young red dragon with unfocused eyes. "Hellow Gale! Welcome to Erth. Say 'hi' to Ermi." She pointed to the odd-looking scavenger that she was painting.

"Shut up, mom," the young red replied, without even looking back. He walked down a tunnel that would lead to his cave, a small room with a single slanted window, adorned with decorative wood and furs. He plopped down on his wolf-skin bed and leaned his head against the window.

Gale. He hated his name. Every time he heard it, he flinched inwardly. it made him angry. He hated being a rich dragon. He hated this fancy cave. He hated his mom. She was not herself. Hadn't been for years. The paint did something too her head, made her crazy. She was not at all the dragon Gale once knew.

Her name was Wind. She, as Gale remembered her, was strict but warm and loveing. She was serious, but sometimes cracked a joke. Her jokes where the best. She made light of dark situations, lifting the mood of other dragons when they seemed down. Wind was a military captain and a mother, balancing both strict teaching and motherly love perfectly. Gale remembered. But his memory was fading. The mother he once knew was gone, replaced by the crazy, empty painter.

Gale clenched his talons. It was all her mate's fault. His step-father. Flair.

Back when Wind was a captain, painting was just a small hobby. Back then, the queen needed a new royal painter, her old one went mad due to the paint. Back then, Flair discovered Wind's paintings and showed them too the queen. Then, the queen appointed Wind as the new royal painter. All day, every day, his mother painted. Slowly going insane due to the paint fumes. And it was all Flair's fault.

A loud scuffing could be heard. Gale perked his ears. It was Flair, entering the cave with what smelled like fresh pray.

The loud sing-song voice of Gale's mother rang through the cave. "Son o' mine! Diiiiner!"

Gale sighed and walked out of his room and through the tunnel which led to the main cave. And their was Flair, a dead goat by his talons. Wind was beside him, blurry-eyed, playing with the goat's horns. Flair was a big orange Skywing. A minor, dug up metals. And because of that, he had strong forearms and blunted claws.

Flair took a large bite of the goat, then said through a full mouth, "wach'ya do da'day, Gale? Fly?" He swallowed, then laughed. "Ha! Ya did! Look a' ch'yur face! Hehe! You'll never be good at nothin'."

Gale swallowed hard, trying to repress his anger. "I did more than fly. I analyzed and memorized locations."

Flair snorted. "Wha'? Haha! The Queen don't have no use for ya. Yur jus' gonna be a tramp! Haha!"

"No!" Gale yelled, loosing his temper, "I'm gonna be a mapper! The royal mapper!"

Flair scrapped the ground, amused. "Whid no ed'cation? Ha! Ya kin hardly read. Stupid! The queen knows not to pay yur tuition 'cause she knows you'll fail. Yur father was a tramp after all."

Gale took that as if it where a rock to the chest. Sadness showed in his eyes for a split second, then it glazed over in a red-hot anger.

"Motherfucker!" the younger yelled, "you don't know how too read at all! Your from the boonies! The only reason why my mom took you in is because she pitied you!"

Flair's whole face wrinkled in anger, showing his long fangs, snorting smoke. He roared loud enough to crack rock. Gale shook in fear, he had never spoke back to Flair that harsh. The big orange lunged forward, but Gale jumped over him, flying out the cave and into the warm summer's air. Flair was at his tail, Gale could feel it, so Gale dove down into the rock columns, weaving through them, turning sideways so he could fit through the narrowest of spots.

Gale exited the rocky towers and dove into the woods. Still, he flew, wings being scrapped by pines, face being bombarded with whip-thin branches.

When Gale finely felt safe, he landed next to a large evergreen and collapsed, breathing hard and shaky. After he calmed, Gale noticed he was in the woods that lay adjacent to the queens pallas. He was safe.

Gale curled up, laying very cat-like. What would he do? He couldn't go back, not now at least. Part of him wanted to stay here, in the forest, sitting just like he was untill he turned to stone.

After awhile, Flair's words started to echo in Gale's head: _Ya kin hardly read, stupid! The Queen don't have no use for ya. Yur jus' gonna be a tramp! Yur father was a tramp after all._

Gale swallowed a painful lump in his throat. Its true, his father was a tramp. Roamer was a kinder word for these types of dragon. They tended to live solitary lives of the land, nomadic, forsaking the queendom and returning to the old ways before the scorching. Normally because they had no place in the tribe. Unneeded, unwanted, exiled.

But Gale's father, Roost, was none of the above. What Gale could remember of Roost was his laziness, his un-careing, un-interest in nothing but himself. Gale was a young dragonet then, when Roost abandoned his fathering duties to take up the lazy care-free life of a tramp. Where his father is now, Gale has no clue.

The young dragon sunk his claws into the dirt, grinding his teeth. He hated Roost. He hated Flair. He hated his mother- no, not his mother, he hated what she had become: the empty shell that used to be his mother. He hated them all. He hated that he was hatched. Gale hated his name.

As smoke rose from his nostrils in anger, a thought came across his mind: Leave. Leave this life.

There, in the middle of the summer forest of pines and evergreens, a young dragon contemplated his future, if he would even have one.

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I dunno where I'm going with this, may or may not continue. It was mostly just practice. Third thing I've written this month. btw I'm a guy now.


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